


Inordinate

by mr_milky



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Anal Sex, Consensual, Drabble, Fraternization, M/M, PWP, dat sweet sweet rarepair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 09:35:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10273886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mr_milky/pseuds/mr_milky
Summary: Thrawn can't turn his brain off even for a moment.





	

Lyste is a pliant, willing thing. Eager, ready to serve. Not ambitious or foolish enough to think that the _arrangement_ he has with Grand Admiral Thrawn will advance his career, though he may be foolish enough to read into it as being more than it is. 

Thrawn's hand slides over a fleshy cheek as he considers it, thumb pressing against the rim of a hole that always so readily accepts the slick, blue-flushed cock that stretches it open. The Lieutenant makes soft, fucked out noises before him, hips propped high in the air while his weight is leaned on his chest and shoulders, arms clutching around a pillow that he drools happily against. There are certain downsides to the affections that Lyste harbors for him, he supposes, as his hips draw back and then slap hard and punishing against the seat of his subordinate's ass, drawing out a louder cry and a face turning to muffle some against the pillow. Thrawn's pace is an unforgiving thing, making Lyste jolt forward toward the headboard with each and every thrust, but the Lieutenant never protests against the mind-numbing pleasure that it gives him. 

Fleshy, rhythmic slaps are the metronome behind Thrawn's thoughts. In many ways, it's a distraction – both for Lyste and for himself. A risk he shouldn't be taking, so why is he? He justifies it by saying the benefits outweigh the risks. It cements Lyste's loyalty to the Empire. Thrawn is all too aware of how the Lieutenant's performance has improved since this began, since the first time Thrawn had instructed him to sit beneath his desk and service him while he worked.  
It lets Thrawn himself vent the stress of his career and focus his mind in a way other than physical combat exercises, despite being just as satisfyingly tiring. 

Lyste's noises before him are getting more desperate. Thrawn watches the way that the Lieutenant's mouth hangs open and freely releases his sounds and cries, the way that Lyste's lips form around his name, the way his voice hitches. Fire pools in Thrawn's belly, and with a grunt and slowing, staggered thrusts, that fire fills Lyste, the younger man's back arching as if to accept every drop of it that he can hold. The Chiss lingers there for a few long moments, bowed partway over him, his hands gripping onto Lyste's hips to help support his own weight, red eyes lidded and pants of exertion escaping his own lips.  
But he pulls out, eventually, noting with some curiosity that Lyste came to his own pleasure, too, filling the condom that sits around his length that Thrawn carefully removes, making sure that the majority of the other's mess is accounted for before he finally allows the other to lay flat against the sheets, Lyste still panting against the pillow. He is allowed to dirty Lyste, but Lyste isn't allowed to dirty his sheets. 

He gets up to throw the condom away, glancing back over his shoulder as he stands beside the trash chute and drops the item in. Lyste is flushed and boneless against the bed, keeping Thrawn's seed inside him just as the Chiss has instructed him to, watching him with those puppyish blue eyes of his, still hazy with after-glow and lidded with post-orgasm exhaustion. A tissue is plucked from the box nearby, wiping off his length before it returns to its sheathe, sealed safely inside him again, and Thrawn tosses that too into the chute before returning to the bed. The cushion of it dips beneath his weight. 

He watches Lyste as the other drifts off into sleep, realizing that he is going to let the Lieutenant rest here rather than sending him off to his own room and his own duties. His fingers reach to smooth against the brown hair at the nape of the younger's neck.

Perhaps he is foolish, too.


End file.
